A lesson I’ve learned from Mr. Lyme is knowing my limits.
I’ve been a rebel since my childhood days where I have a propensity to push boundaries as far as I can to see what would happen.
Constantly pushing and probing has been the modus operandi of my life — I didn’t know how not to push because I feared being limited, a lack of expansion in mind or body. To push is to survive and thrive. To not push would be to die and stagnate (esp. growing up deaf in a world that didn’t think I accounted to much or could do what ordinary hearing people did).
These days I can’t push like I used to, thanks to Mr. Lyme taking over my body. When I pushed I’d crash hard and knock back my recovery progress.
I had to re-learn the art of listening to my body’s limits — correction — honoring my body because in the past I’d ignore and push anyway. Subtle signals heard within are now clearer.
I’ve also learned that there is a value to having some limits. Literal healthy boundaries, you might say.
Nowadays when my body feels tired or weak, I’ll back off even as I want to keep going, to feel like I’m healing via movement. Stopping, resting, and doing nothing is also an act of healing.
In some ways, Mr. Lyme helped forge a deeper intimacy between myself and my body.
It’s hard to stop after a lifetime of pushing and powering past limits. Maybe I’ll be able to do that again (and knowing me, I probably will).
At least I’ve found the language of limits within to help guide us now and in the future.